


Rubberbands and Notebooks

by JazzyClassic



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, do tags even apply here, i guess??, this is just a somewhat funny fanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 03:15:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3634551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzyClassic/pseuds/JazzyClassic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock can't find his notebook.<br/>Sherlock needs a hair cut.<br/>John gets a little salty but soon a happy ending ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rubberbands and Notebooks

**Author's Note:**

> Oh god. One of my earlier works. This is so embarrassing but I don't have the heart to remove it. Decent edits will come when I have the chance.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for updates!  
> http://www.tumblr.com/blog/jazzyclassicofficial

All was quite one Sunday morning at 221b. Mrs. Hudson was out having a book club meeting of some kind or something with her friends- Sherlock wasnt sure, having not actually listened when she was talking. She always insisted on bothering him when he was busy, so it was hardly his fault if he didn't retain the information. John was sitting in his chair in the living room, reading quietly, the only sound in the flat the crinkling that came from him turning the page. Sherlock himself sat on a stool at the kitchen counter, examining blood samples under a microscope. He took advantage of Mrs. Hudson being gone to do so, because she was always getting onto his case about having unedible things, especially things that came from people, on the kitchen counter. He snorted at the memory of her little tangent. Far worse things had been on the kitchen counter, and he didnt see why a simple drop of blood, which was sealed between two pieces of glass mind you, could be such a big deal to her. 

Sherlock turned the knobs of the microscope to adjust the focus, and patted the surface of the counter. He grunted in dissatisfaction and felt around over the mess of papers and dishes and other miscellaneous paraphanalia blindly, all the while stubbornly keeping his attention on his microscope. A man's freedome was riding on this one drop of blood, and he couldnt afford to look away and miss precious details that the members of the Forensics team, such as Philip Anderson, weren't able to catch themselves. If Sherlock couldn't spot them, then he was no better than them. The thought left a bad taste in his mouth. After a few more moments of stubbornly fondling the contents of the counter space, Sherlock gave up, deciding to call for John.

"What?" John answered him back, looking up from his book. He creased the corner of the page and folded it over, then closed it. "What do you need? You're not asking me to get your cellphone out of your pocket again, are you?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Sherlock replied, readjusting the knobs of the microscope. "I don't wear my coat indoors. I need you to get my notepad for me."

John looked at him suspiciously, placing his book down on the coffee table. "Alright..." He stood. "Where is it?"

"On the counter." He stated.

"No. Oh, no you don't." John shot him an unamused look and sat his happy ass back down, retrieving his book.

Sherlock sighed. "John, please. I can't reach it, and honestly I'm not even sure it's still there where I left it. I need it and you know why I can't look away to get it." 

The sound of an annoyed grunt and a creaking chair came from the other side of the floor and Sherlock smiled to himself, continuing to make mental notes of what he was seeing. "Hurry, if it's not too inconvenient."

"Of course not, happy to help." John grumbled, beginning to sift through the hodgepodge of randomly strewn belongings. "What does it look like?"

"Like a notebook." Sherlock deadpanned. "Really, it can't be that hard to find. It was right there earlier." He gestured vaguely in the direction that John was looking. 

John sighed, putting his hands on his hips. "Well, it's not here. I think Mrs. Hudson was tidying up earlier. You might ask her when she gets back." John turned and made his way back to his chair, sitting back down. Actually, he didnt so much as sit down as drop back into the chair, landing with a soft thud. The noise annoyed Sherlock more than it perhaps should have, and he gave up in trying to analyze his blood sample. It was pointless without his notebook anyhow. "Fantastic." He spat, brushing the hair out of his eyes. "There was a weeks worth of observations in that stupid notebook." He ran a hand through his messy curls, blowing an aggitated breath out through his nose. 

John gave him a sypmathetic look. "Sorry. I should have said something to her. I wasn't thinking." Sherlock replied by shaking his head from side to side to knock his hair out of his eyes, then stood up and padded barefoot into the livingroom. He was normally barefoot, but it was probably a habit he needed to break. There was always broken glass and other dangerous objects recklessly strewn about the kitchen, and more than once John had the misfortune of either stepping on them or in them. Sherlock was lucky, but not in the mood to experience it himself. 

He sat himself in his chair across from John's and leaned back, letting his head rest on the back of it. He blew a breath up from his mouth to yet again try and blow the hair out of his eyes, but to no avail. Curious as to what the noise was, John looked up, and noticed the struggle between. "You could always use your hand, you know."

"Can't be bothered." Sherlock answered him lazily.

"Then get a haircut."

"Can't be bothered."

"For Christ's sake, Sherlock." John tossed his book down again, crossing his arms. "It'll really save you some trouble in the long-run." He urged. 

"Nonsense. I'll just..." Sherlock sat up, looking around his area. "I'll just tie it back, like Molly does. I'll cut it when it's more convenient." he scanned the room until his eyes fell upon a rubberband that once held cards together. 

One night, when there were no cases and no clients, Sherlock and John spent an evening trapped in their flat with nothing to do. It had been already established that drinking was not the best way to entertain themselves, as the last time it had happened, Sherlock had gotten sick on their poor client's carpet, and John didn't know up from down. So, to keep themselves ocuppied, Sherlock suggested a game of 52 Card Pick-Up. 

Unknown to John at the time, this involved Sherlock hiding 52 cards around the flat and expecting John to be able to find them.

Of course he didn't, but bless his heart, he tried.

Anyhow, now they were left with a useless rubberband that Sherlock was about to put to use. He put it around his wrist and raised his hands to his head, and tied hair back with it. John watched, somewhat amused. Sherlock looked rather satisfied with himself and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"You look smug." John mused.

"I deserve to. I figured out and alternative." Sherlock mimicked his tone, smirking. 

"Don't be so sure about that."

Sherlock dissmissed him, reaching for the paper on the coffee table. 

***

"Sherlock, please, will you just hold still-" John pleaded, getting a firm hold of Sherlock's shoulder with one hand, trying to operate a pair of shears with the other.

"No-!" Sherlock exclaimed, pushing himself up from the chair. John shoved him back down. 

"Sherlock, I swear, if you don't hold still I'm going to end up cutting your bloody ear off!" John shouted, taking hold of Sherlock's ponytail. "Honestly, this will all be over and done with if you just sit still-"

"It hurts!" Sherlock whined, trying to swat John's hands away. John smacked his wrist and the consulting detective grumbled in reply.

Sherlock glared at John's reflection in the bathroom mirror, never having been more annoyed with the man in his entire life. "Sherlock, you should have just done what I said and-

"Shut it."

"Fine, fine, don't thank me for trying to help you." John snapped and Sherlock rolled his eyes. John tugged on the rubber band as gently as he could without pulling on Sherlock's hair so that he could work the blades of the shears in, and Sherlock voiced his discomfort in the form of colorful curses and amusing noises.

Eventually Sherlock heard the snip of the blade closing, and then the pressure was eased off his shoulders and hair. He sighed, rolling his head from side to side to pop his neck. "That was an ordeal..." 

"John isn't always wrong, is he?"

"I suppose not." 

John nodded. A long time ago he had come to terms with that being the closest to an admittance of error from Sherlock.

"You're getting a proper haircut tomorrow. I'm not dealing with any more of your brilliant ideas." John stated, cleaning the shears in the bathroom sink. Sherlock rolled his eyes, placing a kiss to John's cheek. John blinked, turning his head towards the taller man. 

"What was-" He started. Sherlock cut him off. 

"Hush. Come to bed soon." Sherlock gave John's bum a quick pat, then left the room. John snorted, smiling to himself. "What a pain in my ass... By the way..." He called out the door.

"I found your bleeding notebook under your microscope."


End file.
